Haunting Memories
by Thaumagist
Summary: A childhood friend. A being who would never leave. The origins of his phasmophobia. She has returned to claim what she wants desperately: their lives. Contains death, violence, and blood.


**In the middle of typing the second chapter of Do Over, I had a bit of Writer's Block. I did some little oneshots and little things in between to gain some inspiration. I suddenly had the idea for a little horror story, so I started typing and it led to me deciding to create a whole new fanfiction. **

**Do Over**** will still be continued, but this may be updated more frequently. Y'know, IF I DON'T GET WRITER'S BLOCK AGAIN.**

**Please note that I am still learning the basics of story writing and such, so my work isn't that impressive. ;) Hope you enjoy! Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated! :D**

**- Thaumagist**

* * *

Chapter 1|Paper and Pencil

One's memories consist of moments of euphoria, periods of sorrow, long-held grudges and every other emotion in between. Some linger and dwindle in the back of one's mind, at times too far beyond the border of one's memory to take back and remember again, and others remain persistent and stubborn and refuse to leave, hiding behind other memories just waiting to jump out by the cue of anything that triggers it. And this night, with the fireflies floating idly like miniature lanterns and the orchestra of crickets using their legs as violins, triggered a memory in someone's head. As soon as this memory was brought back to the front of Luigi's mind, all became unimportant to him but it.

How could he have forgotten the day? It might as well had been the most important, the most crucial day he had ever needed to remember.

Allowing his book to drop out of his hands and fall onto the carpet, the green clad plumber bolted upright from his chair. He stood for a moment, nearly hyperventilating and shivering. His panic-striken mind raced to think calmly. Paper and a pencil, he needed paper and a pencil.

He dashed to the little wooden desk in the living room and yanked open a drawer, digging through broken pencils and unfinished letters and little odds and ends. Luigi groaned as his search in that drawer was for naught, and pulled open the second drawer and began to dig through that one as well.

Footsteps came into the room. Luigi knew who it was and did not care to acknowledge him, the only thing he considered worthy of concern was whether the brothers actually owned a blank piece of paper.

"Bro, what's wrong?" questioned Mario, walking closer and displaying a look of confusion once Luigi could see his face in the corner of his eye. "What are you looking for?"

"_Carta! _Where's the paper?!" He slammed the drawer and rushed over to the bookshelf, grabbed a book and tried to shake it out. Maybe he stuck a piece of paper inside one of the pages to save his place?

His brother snatched the book from him. "What are you doing?! You'll ruin it!" He stood on his toes to attempt to reshelf it. "I think there's some paper under your bed. Why do you need it so badly?"

By the time Mario would turn to face his brother, he would have realized he had bolted up to his bedroom and was pulling junk from under his bed. A couple of minutes of revealing naught but socks, his missing violin bow - oh, so it _finally _turned up, after Luigi had already purchased a replacement some time ago - and even a half-eaten candy bar revealed nothing. Finally he heard the crunching and crinkling of paper, and with a hearty "Aha!" he pulled it out to reveal an unused piece of paper, slightly crumpled and the top right corner creased. He had hoped it would be of better quality, but hopefully she wouldn't mind its destroyed appearance. She would understand.

Luigi rushed back to the writing desk - he would have just jumped from the second floor to the first to save time, but he knew Mario would just yell at him - and grabbed both parts of a broken pencil and scrawled words onto the paper. The writing was that of a kindergartener's, with large messy letters opposed to Luigi's usual tiny, neat handwriting; it didn't help that he was writing in cursive, so his words were nearly incomprehensible. Not like it mattered at this point. He drew some swirls and happy faces for decoration - really to distract the reader from the terrible writing job - and walked hastily over to the coat rack near the front door, paper still in hand, pulled off his jacket and walked right out the door.

The summer air was warm, even when the moon had taken place of the sun. Maybe he didn't need the jacket after all, but nonetheless, Luigi pulled it on, stuck the paper in the pocket and began the trek to his destination. It was nice to have a little walk at night; it sure was calming after his mini panic attack earlier. As he walked the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk and the breeze rattled the trees and bushes and rang the bells on one neighbor's porch. It was a nice, calm night, and that calmness invaded his mind and caused him to drift away into a peaceful little fantasy until he was greeted by the dark metal gates of the cemetery.

Luigi found himself shivering violently as he walked underneath the sign and within the land of the dead. The air felt much better before he walked further; now it was teeming with death and decay and dread. He felt as if the headstones were watching and laughing, laughing at his cowardice. He glanced at one with a look that begged it to not mock him.

He wished he had his flashlight. He could barely make out which headstone belonged to whom. Though the fireflies provided some assistance, the words on the headstones were still incomprehensible and the light casted an eerie glow. Alongside with the moaning wind, the trees that hung their branches low as if mourning for the dead, snapping twigs and half-seen movements in the dark, Luigi was quite impressed with himself that he hadn't lost consciousness from fear.

After a few painfully slow minutes wandering aimlessly and fearfully in the dark, Luigi was finally at the "T"s. "Taggert . . . Tailor . . ." Luigi recited the names in a whisper. "Tak . . . There she is!"

Luigi kneeled in front of the grave, bit his lip and propped the paper he had against the headstone. "Happy birthday," he murmured. "I'm sorry I almost forgot. I've just been so . . . you know." His eyes darted to the left for a moment; he had sworn he saw something move.

The only sounds were the wind and Luigi's shaky breath. "I wish I could have seen you grown up . . ." He chuckled a bit. "My life would be a lot more fun if you had grown up with us."

A crunch of leaves echoed across the graveyard. Luigi's head darted to the source of the sound, alarmed.

He glanced back at the gravestone. "I bet you're laughing at me. You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

Had it just gotten colder? Luigi shivered a bit and rubbed his hands together. The abnormally cold breeze blew against his face and made his eyes water. He turned his head to the side to avoid the freezing wind. And then he saw something that made him stop abruptly.

In the streetlight he could see the silhouette of a young girl standing under the iron sign of the cemetery. Luigi watched her with wide eyes, wanting to move but he found he could not. The girl stood rigid and silent for a moment, then slowly began walking with her gaze fixed straight ahead. Who would allow their child to wander in a cemetery alone and during the darkest part of the night? Was she not frightened?

Luigi dared not take his eyes off the girl. She had appeared so suddenly and quietly, and when paired with the eerie atmosphere and frightful location, Luigi could not tell whether she were dead or alive. She looked like nothing more than a shadow in the dark. The girl began to head towards him with a far more brisk movement than before. He felt himself freeze.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and heard a little voice say, "Hi!" Luigi turned and saw the girl kneeling next to him, with bright energetic eyes and a wide smile. He let go of the breath he had held for quite some time - he didn't even know he was holding his breath; she seemed very much alive. There was so much innocence in her voice. She couldn't possibly be one of the dead.

"Hi," he replied. "What are you doing here, little girl?"

"I think my best friend left something," she said. She cocked her head to the side and her eyes darted to the paper propped against the headstone. "What's that?"

"It's for a friend." Luigi glanced back and forth from the girl to the cemetery's exit. When would this conversation be over so he could leave?

"Why are you leaving it here in a graveyard? Why would they come to a graveyard to get it?" Her voice had an amused tone. "Can't you just give it to them? In their house?"

"My friend lives in the graveyard."

The girl giggled. "Why would anyone live in a graveyard?"

He shrugged, honestly not caring much for answering the girl's questions. "I don't know."

"Are they a ghost?"

". . .I hope not."

She laughed and poked him several times in the ribs. He shot her a "Please, don't do that" look and she ceased. "Why? Are you afraid of ghosts? Grown-ups aren't afraid of ghosts!"

"I am," retorted Luigi. "Who are you, anyway? Shouldn't you go home to your mama and papa?"

Thankfully his attempt a changing the subject was successful. "My parents don't need me nooooow," the girl said in sing-song.

"What?"

She giggled and pointed to the paper. "Can I have that?"

"No."

"Why?"

Was he also this annoying at her age? "It's not for you."

"Right, it's for the ghost." The little girl stood up and walked a couple of steps forward. She cupped her hands over her mouth and called, "Ghoooostie! Ghoooostie! That man has a letter for yoooouuu!" She laughed and ran deeper into the cemetery, still calling, until she was consumed in the blackness and Luigi could not see her anymore.

He shook his head and, with a sigh, he stood up and brushed his overalls off. "Little kids," he muttered. He walked towards the entrance hastily, eager to escape and maybe resume his book - did his brother care enough to put a bookmark where Luigi last left off? Without another glance at the graveyard, Luigi set off towards home, still a bit jumpy.

* * *

The green man cringed. Why did he do that? Why did his finger decide to be stupid and press the doorbell four times? Whenever Mario decided to open the door, he would be greeted by an epic tongue-lashing - Luigi hadn't the slightest clue what caused Mario to become so upset when the doorbell was rung multiple times - and hit with whatever Mario was holding. He hoped it was something like a tissue or newspaper.

Alas when the door finally opened he was smacked across the face with the hard and surprisingly sharp television remote. "What are you doing?!" his brother demanded. "Are you _trying _to break the doorbell?!"

Luigi stepped inside and removed his jacket. "No," he said, and stuck the jacket on the coat rack. His attention diverted to the television and he headed towards it.

"I'm not done with you!" He saw the remote fly past him and crash into the couch. Mario swore in Italian under his breath. "He'll break the doorbell and then make _me_ break the remote. . ."

The younger twin rolled his eyes and pretended he was extremely interested in the soap commercial displayed on the screen than his brother's tirade about breaking things. It went on, though, and every so often Mario would fling something at the back of his brother's head. Luigi finally decided to head to bed when a glass plate went flying and broke against the wall. Even as Luigi was saying "Goodnight!" to his brother, a toothbrush managed to smack him in the nose one last time.

* * *

A hand clutched the paper, grasping it as though it were its lifeline. It brought the paper close to its face; the darkness of the night and the childish handwriting made the words hard to comprehend. Its eyes scanned each line, reading each carefully.

Its eyes widened when it reached the final stanza. It released its grip, allowing the paper to flutter and fly in the wind. A smile crept up its face.

"Finally," it said. "I won't be alone! It'll be just like it was before!"

It laughed and laughed joyously, happier and louder than it had for nearly two decades.

"I need a plan," it said, regaining its seriousness. "I know exactly what to do! It will never fail!"

It ran into the dark and then it was gone.


End file.
